Mirrors and Forever
by raileht
Summary: That had been her mother, the woman Diane wanted to forget. The woman she wanted to hate for a long, long time. She didn't want her or her memories.


**Mirrors and Forever**  
by: Raileht

Summary: That had been her mother, the woman Diane wanted to forget. The woman she wanted to hate for a long, long time. She didn't want her or her memories.

Rating: T, just in case  
Disclaimer: The ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.

Warning: _**Angst with my usual brand of suckiness**_**.**  
Warning 2: a drabble that…just got out of hand.

Note: A very young Diane Lockhart—pre-series.

**"Mirrors and Forever"**

"Miss Lockhart."

The room was large and had walls made of mirrors she'd reveled at the moment she walked in. The beautiful arches at the ceiling of the enormous room swept gracefully upwards, meeting at the top then sweeping down to large columns that reminded Diane of the ones she'd seen in the book about Greece her father had bought her. She always imagined the eternally beautiful Aphrodite lazily wrapping one elegant arm around them as she stared down at the mere mortals who worshiped and adored her.

The higher part of the walls had beautiful stained glass windows that reflected different colors onto their non-slip floors when the sun was high enough and nobody remembered to cover them. Once, she heard one of the mothers saying it added 'character' to the studio. Sometimes she and her friends would play hop around the different colors on the floors when Madame wasn't looking. She thought they were beautiful although not the most beautiful. The studio itself was amazing, but her favorite would always be the mirrors.

Wall to wall, there were enormous mirrors everywhere and the first time she found herself staring at the endless reflection of the room, she could have sworn she'd been hypnotized. At first, it made her dizzy, even a little disoriented, but when she got used to it, she decided it was rather fun. To her, it was like looking into forever.

"Miss Lockhart."

She found it almost relaxing, letting the endlessly repeating image lull her into a quiet calm, like it did now, but when her first lesson had started, Madame had closed off two of the corners with enormous black sliding doors. She had frowned then, even if she was still a little dizzy. It was fun, why did they have to make forever go away?

_"Miss Lockhart!"_

Her green eyes snapped towards her Madame, only to find that her long slim arms were poised like sides of a diamond on her hips, a sure sign she was beyond irritated. She looked around the room and realized everyone in the class was staring at her. Why were they staring? She hated being stared at.

"Miss Lockhart, did you not hear what I instructed?"

_Oh, no._ Had she drifted off again? It was the mirrors! It was forever's fault.

"Miss Lockhart."

The Madame's voice often got thick with her French accent when she was upset and today, Diane knew she'd done something really wrong. What did Madame say again?

"Miss Lockhart?"

Madame did not like repeating herself.

"First position?" she guessed. Did they just start the class? She could not remember. If they did, then she could be right. They usually started with that.

"_No_," Madame said sharply. "Raise yourself _en pointe_, is what I said now, please, pay _attention_!"

"Yes, madame," she said softly, her eyes drifting towards her classmates who were also openly staring at her. At the side, she could see pretty blonde and blue eyed Darla Cumming whispering to the dark haired Kate York, both trying to hide their smiles and giggles as they shared their little stories. They never liked Diane though she didn't know why.

With a small nod of her head, Madame turned away, clapping her hands to signal everyone to return to their places. Diane took her place at the very front, right in front of the mirror that made her drift off and forget paying attention. She resisted the urge to sigh or make any other sound as she waited for Madame's command.

She watched as Madame's long graceful arm swept upward, a signal that told them they were about to start again. The irritated look was now gone as Madame relaxed which made Diane relax as well. She wasn't in trouble anymore.

"We will start again from the beginning. One, two, three…"

Making sure the sigh that wanted to escape her lips didn't slip out by accident, Diane positioned her arms and raised herself on the tips of her toes. She held her position as long as possible then lowered herself down, slowly to the balls of her feet. She realized her toes were hurting terribly which meant either she'd been following for a while now and didn't know it or she'd done something to herself without paying attention. She was sure it was the former.

Her feet were sore, a telling sign just exactly how long the class had been going on.

"My…my toes hurt," the ten-year-old whispered, but she'd said it so quietly, Madame hadn't heard her. She wasn't sure whether to be glad or not. Surely, a complaint right after they'd just begun again would displease Madame. She disliked having her classes getting interruptions.

"Plié first position…"

"Madame…" Diane said after following through with third, fourth and fifth positions, then stopped, one hand clutching the barre as she stumbled forward. She saw Madame's reflection on the mirror and knew she'd been heard this time. Guiltily, she looked down at her feet until Madame was standing next to her again.

"Miss Lockhart, we are not yet done—"

"Madame…can I stop, please?"

The tall slender woman, who could twirl like a graceful butterfly and land on her feet like a weightless cat and had bright blue eyes and blonde hair that was always in a tight perfect, neat bun did not speak for a moment. She scared Diane with her silence and she almost withdrew her request when the woman finally spoke, "Miss Lockhart, _ballet_ is about discipline, if you—"

"My toes hurt—"

"Miss Lockhart, we are not finished," the Madame cut in, her long slender pointer finger jutting up as she leaned towards the girl. "Now, remember: the turnout begins at the hip, not your ankles. Positions, dears..."

Diane knew what was to be done to do a turnout. She also knew they were not finished _and _she also knew that ballet was about discipline. The problem was, she had recently injured her ankle a little during one of their classes after a bad landing and if excuses were allowed, she would have been allowed to sit in instead of participate, seeing as she could only favor her right leg.

But as Madame said, ballet was about discipline so _Miss Lockhart_ turned back to the barre, green eyes feeling a little moist and bit down hard on the inside of her bottom lip.

She resumed her position and completed the turnout perfectly, ignoring the slight pain she felt on her injured ankle. She avoided Madame's eyes for the rest of the lesson, knowing she was being watched closely.

_I hate you_, she wanted to say because she knew she meant it._ I hate you_.

The session ended with Diane doing a perfect arabesque while at the same time, telling Madame she hated her, over and over again. The moist in her eyes never left but at the same time, the tears never fell.

Diane made sure they didn't.

-o0o-

"Plié fourth position, plié fifth position…"

She went to her next lesson, then the next, then the next, then the next after that. Every now and then, Madame clucked her tongue when she landed too heavy or too late. She told her if Diane moved too fast, too slow or if she was completely out of timing, as she was at one point. She ignored the woman and continued to do what she wanted because she didn't really care anymore. In fact, she wasn't sure if she ever really did.

"Miss Lockhart!_ Straighten that knee_," the frustration was making the woman's accent more prominent than any of the students had ever heard. "You have perfected the arabesque before, I do not see why you can't now!"

She didn't listen and instead, turned to Madame with her head tilted to one side, sweat running down the side of her face and a loose lock of hair sticking near the corner of her eye. Madame wanted her to practice harder, be _perfect _because there was a production coming up and Little Miss Diane Lockhart was the one she wanted to be the lead because, despite the last few sessions, she _really _was good, one of the best in her class.

Diane still hadn't told the woman she wasn't doing it.

"Miss Lockhart…"

She stared a little longer at the woman as she obviously tried to find the words she needed for what she wanted to say. But Diane didn't care and instead, sat on the floor and began to stretch. Her muscles were tired and sore. She needed to stretch before leaving. She could feel everyone staring at her, even pretty little Darla Cumming who really wanted to play the lead but wasn't allowed to because she still stumbled sometimes.

"You're not trying hard enough," Madame began as Diane reached for her toes easily.

"I've been trying my best, Madame," she replied. It was bad to lie, Daddy said, but somewhere around the school yard, some kids were talking about white lies which meant that those lies were okay. To Diane, _this _was a white lie.

"You have _not_," Madame said sharply. "The production is coming soon. You need to practice, practice, _practice_."

"I don't," she said without thinking, this time in a lazy stretch, holding her arms high in the air. "I don't, don't, _don't_."

She remembered her mother saying a few times that while Diane inherited her beauty, she also inherited her father's sarcasm, whatever that was. Diane had no specific meaning for the word, but somehow she knew her mother only said that whenever she spoke that way or mimicked people in a way she knew would annoy them. She'd been chastised before, but she couldn't help herself.

"Of course, you do, cherie," Madame cooed, voice softer now. "Your mother was a gifted dancer. Why can you not be the same, _hm_?"

Diane felt her body freeze upon hearing that, hearing the words _slam _into her as if they'd each been delivered with a physical blow, one followed by the other. Slowly, she collected herself as she stood up, uncaring that other parts of her body had been neglected.

"I…" she stared at Madame as she slowly backed away, blindly reaching for her things as she prepared to leave. She found it hard to speak at first, but she set her jaw the way she did whenever she was angry then forced herself to speak, "I am _not _my mother."

"Of course not, cherie, but—"

"Shut up!" Diane suddenly erupted, surprising even herself. The gasps from the other girls in the room echoed and she could have sworn she could hear Darla and Kate letting out squeaks, but she didn't care.

Diane was fed up.

"Just SHUT UP! I am NOT my MOTHER and I WILL NEVER BE SO LEAVE ME ALONE! I hate ballet, I hate this stupid place and I hate YOU!"

She'd been trying not to say that for weeks, but found she couldn't hold back anymore. How dare she speak about her mother? She was just a stupid ballet teacher.

"Miss Lockhart—"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she screamed before turning around and running as fast as her legs would allow. She barely stopped to grab her bag, barely caring that her clothes had spilled along with her shoes. She grabbed whatever she could reach, threw the doors open and ran. She didn't look back and didn't slow down as Madame called her name.

Diane burst through the doors of the studio's main building, her pointe shoes barely sufficient for the harsh concrete of the sidewalk. She furiously wiped at the stubborn tears that insisted on falling no matter how hard she tried to stop them and with blurred eyes, she searched the parking area for the car her father usually sent for her. Finding none, she let out a choked sob and ran through the small iron-link gates.

She ran through the general direction the driver usually took, deciding she would run home if she had to. At that moment, in the middle of her emotional turmoil, the young girl had failed to remember that they lived rather far from the downtown studio's location. Diane was so upset, she could barely remember which direction to take.

_'Why can you not be the same, hm?'_

Those words echoed in her mind as the tears continued to fall. She didn't want to be her mother, not anymore after everything. Diane might have thought she was the most wonderful, most beautiful person she'd ever see but that was then. Now, all she wanted was to forget her and maybe pretend she never existed. It was easier that way.

She had dark hair, darker and more beautiful than Diane's light brown that was almost blonde and her eyes had been a beautiful pair of blue, like the sky. She had a smile that was brighter than the sun, a melodious laugh and the softest hands. She was tall but shorter than Daddy, with long dancer's legs and when she walked, she seemed like she was floating. Diane often heard her father teasing her mother, calling her a siren and a nymph. She would laugh and kiss him.

Her mother loved to dance and often, when there were parties at their house and Daddy's work friends and Mommy's friends came over, there would be beautiful music and lots of dancing. Mommy would hold on to Daddy's arm, drag him to the dance floor while he pretended to not want to and begin dancing with him. He would smile, kiss her once and hold her properly. They would sway, whisper and laugh with each other as they forgot the guests around them.

All this, Diane always watched in her pajamas from the staircase where she could hide. Daddy and Mommy never knew she saw. She always loved watching them dance because they always looked like they were made for each other. Watching them made Diane want to have that someday, have someone so perfect for her it would look like he was made only just for her.

"No…"

In the mornings after, Mommy would come in, dressed in her softest white fluffy robe and slip into her bed. She would cuddle her and tell her good morning. She would kiss her and tell her she was the most precious baby girl in the world. Diane would smile and cuddle closer because she loved the warmth that surrounded her when her mother held her in those mornings.

"No, no, no!"

She didn't want to remember, but the memories kept coming back.

"No, no…no…"

When her mother danced, it was as if her feet weren't touching the ground. She was graceful and enchanting, as if there was nothing in the world that made her sad or bothered her. She would laugh, move her arms in soft strokes and close her eyes. She looked like she felt free.

Then…everything changed, everything fell apart.

Her mother stopped dancing, she stopped going out, stopped laughing and even stopped coming into her bedroom. Her hair started to fall and stopped being shiny and beautiful. She started to cry too, though she tried hard not to let Diane see. She'd asked Daddy what was wrong with Mommy, but he wouldn't say a thing except, "Mommy's just a little sick."

And she had hoped that her mother would get better soon so they could dance and play together, but as Diane waited and waited, Mommy never got better. Diane had begged for her to come out of bed, to come play with her, but she wouldn't. She'd asked her father to make her mother come out, but even he couldn't make her.

Mommy got sick more and longer and she began to sleep more. Diane had tried to stay by her side, but sometimes, they wouldn't let her. She had watched, helplessly, as her Mommy simply stopped being mommy. She couldn't stop anything from happening, couldn't do anything to make her better.

And even Daddy, who tried so hard, tried to hold on, tried to fight—couldn't stop anything from happening.

Then one day, her mother called her into her bedroom and she smiled, pulling her close and cuddled her like she used to. She was even wearing her fluffy robe.

"Be good to daddy, okay?" she had whispered, "Take care of daddy because we both know daddy isn't very good at taking care of himself, right?" And she laughed and hugged her tight, "And you, my darling, my sweet, sweet little girl…mommy loves you and she will always love you…no matter what, no matter where or when, okay baby?"

Diane, feeling scared though she didn't know why, had held on tighter. She hadn't planned on letting go, not anytime soon until she felt something warm fall on her skin. She looked up, "Mommy…why are you crying, mommy?"

"I just love you so much," her mother said, hugging her tightly again. "Don't you ever forget that."

"I won't," Diane had whispered, as if it was a secret. "I love you too, Mommy. Forever and ever."

"I love you too, baby."

And for some reason, Diane couldn't stop the fear from overtaking her, "Don't leave me."

"I won't," her mother had said, "I promise. I'll always be with you, my darling."

That had been her mother, the woman Diane wanted to forget. The woman she wanted to _hate _for a long, long time. She didn't want her or her memories.

Her feet, though painful and tired now, continued to take her farther and farther from the studio and as she ran through the streets, paying attention to nothing while trying to banish her mother's memories, she failed to notice the crack on the step. One part of the sidewalk had been broken that left one part jutting up as if waiting for anyone to trip there.

Diane did and she fell, hard.

She landed on her knee with a loud thud, her backpack falling off her arm as she desperately tried to stop herself from falling. She failed and landed heavily on her chin, the momentum enough to make her body collide harshly against the rough ground.

Colors boomed behind her closed eyes as her chin hit the pavement, the palms on her hands burning as they slid painfully with the heavily textured floor. She was soaked with sweat, locks of hair sticking to her skin from where they'd fallen from her bun and she continued to cry, not from the pain she'd gotten from the fall, but rather from the memories that would not stop haunting her even as she tried to will them away.

"I hate you," she sobbed helplessly as she gingerly tried to get up, one shaking and bloody hand planting itself firmly on the ground for support her battered body needed. She bent her knees slowly, to see if she could and fully tried to get up when they allowed her to.

She let out a loud sob when her knees protested and she rolled her body so she could sit on the ground properly. It seemed everywhere hurt, but the slowly bleeding cut on her left knee where her tights had ripped seemed to hurt the worst. Seeing the blood, Diane let out another cry.

"I hate you," she sobbed, curling her body tightly even as pain continued to explore everywhere. She wrapped her arms around her bent legs, burying her face on her knees, unknowingly getting blood on her cheek from the bleeding cut on her knee. "I hate you…"

"…I hate you for leaving me."

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

_**For Ellie**_


End file.
